


Patience

by Alethia



Series: A Light Touch [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Dating, F/M, Party Games, Partying, Porn, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 07:44:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17956448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "You're going, right?" Michael hesitated, making Tilly's eyes widen. "Michael, you have to go! Captain Sexypants says he wants to lay you out and do dirty things to you, you say 'yes, sir, can I have some more.'"





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [A Light Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889434), and while it will help to read that first, it's not strictly necessary. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1018807.html).

"He actually said that? Out loud, in the real world and not the fantasy version in my head?" Tilly asked, marveling.

"He actually said that," Michael confirmed, mind going back to the elevator, Pike looking at her like _that_ , subtly but undeniably putting sex on the table. A light touch. 

Tilly fell back on her bed. "Oh, my god, I didn't think he could get any hotter."

"Tilly." That was...not the point. Michael was quite focused on avoiding that point. 

"A man in power worried about abuse of power? Why aren't you in a melted puddle on the floor? I mean, congrats on holding it together, but I would be in a melted puddle on the floor."

Part of her wanted to be. Part of her couldn't get the look in his eyes out of her head, soft and trusting, but all underlaid with a _heat_ she'd been steadfastly ignoring. But now that it was out in the open, that traitorous part of herself wanted to sink into it and never come out. 

Michael was doing her best to contain that part. Emotional decisions were rarely wise. 

She opened her mouth, but didn't know how to put it all into words. Tilly stared at her, a dark suspicion dawning as she sat up slowly. 

"You're going, right?" Michael hesitated, making Tilly's eyes widen. "Michael, you have to go! Captain Sexypants says he wants to lay you out and do dirty things to you, you say 'yes, sir, can I have some more.'"

There was...a lot to unpack in that. "Captain Sexypants?"

"Oh, like you haven't thought it. Don't avoid the question."

Michael shook her head, pulse pounding at the image Tilly painted, want at war with caution, the same internal argument that had been raging ever since Pike stepped so close. "I don't know if it's a good idea."

"Good idea? Okay, _when_ is the last time you had sex?" Tilly shot back, seemingly appalled. 

"Tilly!"

"What? You deserve some good sex with a hot man."

Michael looked away, biting out: "Nothing about this conversation is appropriate."

"Why not?"

"Would you want me asking when you last had sex?"

"Two nights ago."

That snapped Michael's focus back to her. "What? With who?"

Tilly grinned. "So there's this ensign in Security and look, I know it's a cliché, but I am embracing the cliché. I deserve to have a hot phaser boy drop to his knees for me and—" She pointed to Michael accusingly. "Stop trying to derail me. This is about you getting some pep in your step."

"It's about more than that for me," Michael said, quiet. 

That took the wind out of Tilly's sails. Sudden understanding filtered into her expression, along with sympathy. "It was Ash, wasn't it? The last time?"

Michael swallowed. "My judgment has been so compromised..."

Tilly made a noise of protest. "You know that wasn't your fault, right?"

People kept saying that like it was some kind of absolute. Michael just shook her head, at herself more than anything. "I should've seen it. I knew something was wrong, but I fooled myself into thinking otherwise because of...emotional attachment."

"Okay, look, I know you were raised like a robot, but you're allowed to be human. You're allowed to not be perfect. And you're sure as heck allowed to bang the captain just because you're both hot and want each other."

Michael stiffened. "Who says I—"

Tilly just rolled her eyes. "Don't even, I've seen the way you look at him. You want him, he wants you, you can let it be that simple. I mean, you're not marrying the guy. At worst it's like a sexual palate cleanser."

That startled a laugh from Michael. "There's a way to look at it."

Tilly beamed. "You'll thank me. Promise."

***

Tilly's words echoed in Michael's brain as she stood outside Pike's quarters, still debating if this was wise. But she knew that if she didn't show up, a nagging voice inside her would always wonder...so here she was. 

The doors slid open, cutting off her spiraling thoughts. Michael stepped through and—

Was that popcorn?

Michael breathed in as she heard the doors slide shut behind her. It definitely smelled like popcorn. She took in his quarters—a meal table before a set of windows, a separate section of light green couches and chairs, his desk, and beyond that—

Pike walked out of the back room— _bedroom_ , her mind supplied—smiling, but she couldn't parse everything in his eyes. "Michael," he said, voice betraying too many things to track— relief, pleasure, anticipation, maybe? 

He wore a soft blue sweater and gray pants, no shoes. It sent another pulse of _want_ through Michael, totally out of her control. 

His bare feet, so vulnerable, instantly made Michael aware that she was in full uniform, jacket zipped up tight. Should she have worn civilian clothes? How _did_ you dress for an illicit rendezvous with your commanding officer?

"Captain."

"Chris," he corrected pointedly, a bit rueful, but underneath that...warm.

"That will take some getting used to," she admitted. 

He nodded the point. "Fair enough."

Michael didn't quite know what to do then, so she indulged her curiosity. "Do I smell popcorn?"

"Your senses are not failing you. I figured we'd watch a movie. You can't do that without popcorn."

"A movie?" Michael asked, dubious. This was not what she'd expected when she let herself imagine what might happen tonight. Which she didn't. 

Much.

"I know, how traditional. Still, there's something to be said for it, so might I humbly suggest a giant of 20th Century cinema: _Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure_."

Michael smiled. "That is not a real thing."

His eyes sparkled. "Oh, ye of little faith." 

***

Michael couldn't help but grin at the final, terrible guitar playing, charmed despite how ridiculous it all was. From beside her on the couch, she could feel Pike looking over. When she met his eyes, satisfaction radiated off him. "I thought you might like it." And then, "Computer, lights. And lower the volume."

As the lights slowly raised, a little zip of pleasure raced through Michael at the idea that he'd considered what she might like; she tried not to let it distract her as she raised an eyebrow at him: "It's completely ludicrous."

"And proudly," he agreed. 

"But it's...hopeful. Optimistic."

"'Be excellent to each other,'" Pike quoted with a twinkle. "Not a bad philosophy, as these things go."

Michael nodded. "Thank you for showing this to me," she said, touched. 

"You're welcome," he murmured, holding her gaze, the moment stretching. 

That's when Michael's worry resurfaced, having been pushed aside in favor of 20th Century farce. The lack of a distraction suddenly reminded her just why she was here, but she didn't know what to _do_. She looked back to the screen, the credits still rolling. 

Pike picked up the empty popcorn bowl. "Well, it's getting late. We should probably call it."

"...really?" Michael asked, unable to help the surprised note in her voice. 

"Really." Pike regarded her keenly. "Why, you were expecting something else?" 

Michael opened her mouth, but then hesitated, searching for a socially acceptable way to broach the subject. 

Pike got it anyway. "Ah," he said, nodding, though something complex flickered across his expression, hidden before she could decipher it. Then he went rueful. "No wonder you were ready to vibrate out of your skin half the night."

"I wasn't—" His look stopped her, a matter-of-fact _really, that's what you're going with?_ Michael pressed her lips together, admitting: "I was operating under a certain assumption."

Pike nodded, understanding. "I should have clarified. I brought you here to get to know you, not for some...casual fling."

"You know me."

"The important parts," he confirmed. "Your heart, your brilliance, honor. But what's your favorite food? What do you do to relax? _That's_ the woman I want to know." He flicked a dismissive hand. "If I just wanted to hop into bed with someone, I could do that any time."

Michael straightened. "I see."

Pike pointed to her. "See that? That's what I'm talking about. Jealousy doesn't seem like your style." 

"It's not. You're, of course, free to socialize with whoever you want."

Pike's expression softened, something almost sad slipping in. "Uncertainty, then. If I wanted _whoever_ , we wouldn't be having this conversation." He half-smiled. "You know, back in the old days, people used to date first."

"Back in the old days, women were societally pressured to wear heeled shoes that would shorten their Achilles tendons and calf muscle fibers and eventually hobble them."

Pike tossed her that little half-smile, the one that always made something low inside her seize up. "No hobbling required, Michael. Cross my heart."

***

"I retract my previous statement, you should marry him," Tilly said seriously. 

"Tilly." Why did she discuss this stuff with Tilly, again?

"But only if you get to the sex before the marriage," Tilly amended. She took in Michael's expression, marveling a little. "Michael, he wants to date you. What even is that?"

"I have no idea," she said seriously. When Pike had stepped so close in the turbolift, she'd thought he meant sex. It had _felt_ like he meant sex. But this made it seem like he wanted a—a relationship? With her. 

Michael didn't do so well at relationships. Beginning and ending with Ash. 

And sure, sometimes it felt like she and Ash just...fell into it, the time loop having accelerated everything beyond how a normal relationship would've progressed. Or so she assumed. They burned bright and hot and then his betrayal exploded everything, including Michael's heart. 

This was...the opposite in every way. Pike made her feel safe and wanted, but it was gentle; he didn't _push_ the way Ash always had. _A light touch,_ her mind reminded. 

For some reason, that made her even more hesitant. 

"Well, whatever it is, you should go for it," Tilly said with utter conviction. 

Michael shook her head. "Why do you say that?"

"He makes you smile."

***

So Michael and Pike...hung out, night after night. Sometimes it was a movie, others it was an old-school boardgame. They had a picnic on his floor. He had her do a blind taste test of different kinds of whisky (none of them enjoyable, why people insisted on getting drunk still a mystery). They even played chess. 

He never managed to wear shoes, but eventually Michael joined him in that, even unzipping her jacket. Comfortable, though every moment was filled with that tense kind of awareness, intimate even if what they did was outwardly platonic. Through it all, he looked at her with a glint in his eyes that she couldn't name, but that injected a honeyed warmth in her veins regardless. 

He started as 'Pike,' but soon became 'Chris,' the name bringing with it a flash of _feeling_ —loyalty, respect, affection, all added to the ever-present _want_ coloring every interaction. 

Sex was seeping into _everything_ and they weren't even having it. Michael had never been this frustrated, or confused, not understanding his reticence. 

He kept it light, the only hint of something more in the way he looked at her sometimes, like he had to stop himself from reaching out to touch.

Michael really needed him to stop stopping himself already. 

***

Michael looked up from the holographic pieces of the scrabble board sitting between them on the couch, shooting Chris a _look_. "'Ba' is not a word."

"Is that an official challenge I hear?" Chris asked, teasing. "An official challenge will cost you if you lose."

Michael's eyes narrowed as she considered. Finally: "No. No challenge. But only because your sense of honor precludes cheating."

Chris flashed a smile as he took his points. "Look at that, she does trust me," he said, half-mocking, but like that knowledge was the real victory. 

Michael put a hand on his arm. "Implicitly. Always."

Something about her tone seemed to catch him, a tiny smile curving his lips. He studied her face, expression going heavy, that look igniting something inside her. Then he flipped his arm, clasping her hand and tugging her toward him. The kiss was soft, the barest brush of lips, but it was enough to light up nerve endings from her mouth to the balls of her bare feet. 

Chris didn't pull back, slanting his mouth over hers a little harder, but still so carefully, hand cradling her jaw, fingertips touching the soft skin behind her ear. Michael felt the blood pounding in her temples, senses going hyper-aware as she kissed him back, arm looping around his shoulders. 

She took a breath, mouth still on his, the two of them suspended in a heady bubble...and then it was like a command entered, mouths crushing together as passion swept through them, his tongue chasing hers as he pulled her even closer, sending the board tumbling. 

Michael crawled into his lap, still kissing, pressing against him everywhere. Chris groaned, hands landing on her hips and gripping tight, his tongue dipping into her mouth and away again, an unrepentant tease. Michael wanted that mouth on her body, nothing between them but sweat and whispered words. She made a helpless noise into his mouth—

And Chris turned his head, breaking the kiss. His forehead rested against hers as he panted into the space between them. His hands loosened their hold, going light on her hips. 

"Not yet?" Michael asked, breathless, lips still tingling. 

"Not yet," he confirmed, though he didn't look happy about it. 

Michael simply nodded, clearing her throat and shifting off of him, back onto the couch. "Then I should go."

Chris didn't look happy about that either, but nodded anyway. "I'll see you tomorrow night."

"You will."

***

Back in her quarters, Michael sighed as she flopped back on her bed.

The sound made Tilly glance over, eyes going a little wide. "Whoa."

"What?" Michael asked. 

"Your lips are bruised. Been having fun?" she asked knowingly. 

Michael raised a hand to her mouth, feeling the residual heat still there. "I wish," she muttered. 

Tilly peered at her, suspicious. "Wait, really? Captain Sexypants is still holding out on you?"

"Please stop calling him that. And...we're taking it slow."

Tilly shook her head, like it was a picture that didn't quite make sense. "This is literally unprecedented, in my life. I mean, the way he _looks_ at you."

"He wants to wait. I am respecting that decision."

"But _why_ wait?" 

That _was_ the question. Michael hadn't worked up the nerve to ask him, unsure she wanted to know the answer, so she just...lived with the uncertainty. 

"He's traditional."

"Well, for your sake I hope that doesn't mean in every area. All missionary all the time would kinda be a drag."

Michael groaned and buried her head in her pillow, really not needing to go there. Or think about sex. At all. 

***

Four days—and a lot of heated looks and not-touching—later, Michael found her evening plans with Chris canceled for the worst reason: a party. Tilly had insisted she come, so here Michael was, once again standing off to the side as lights flashed and music pounded, echoes of laughter skating over her. 

She held herself still lest something unfortunate happen with the downright [scandalous white lace-up dress](https://www.dropbox.com/s/z09u05idi9kf0n6/Lace-up%20Dress.jpg?dl=0) Tilly had her in. Tilly had just rolled her eyes, insisting that wardrobe malfunctions were impossible...but the uncertainty was part of the allure. Regardless, Michael wasn't taking any chances. She was fine standing right here, observing, not participating. Especially not with the _looks_ people kept shooting her. 

A sudden shift in the energy of the room, voices lowering, whipped Michael's head around, just in time to see Chris nod to the assembled crowd from the doorway, casual in black slacks and an ice blue shirt that perfectly matched his eyes. He clocked the sudden hush, looking around with an indulgent smile. "What, can't a man get a drink?" 

The crowd chuckled in relief as they realized he wasn't here to shut them down. Normal activity resumed as he turned toward the bar, where a couple ensigns greeted him warmly. Michael watched him smile and chat, something tantalizing about his ease with people. Schmoozing, Philippa had called it, a necessity of a command career; Michael just found the whole game tiresome. But watching Chris...that hadn't gotten old yet. 

Michael's consideration was interrupted by a couple specialists nearby:

"Red alert, he's in civvies," Specialist Wells muttered, taking a sip of her drink and staring at Chris. She was also wearing a civilian dress, something strappy and red. Tilly would probably approve.

Specialist Larani sighed like it wasn't fair. "That jacket he wore to Terralysium still has a starring role in my fantasies."

Wells' voice went considering: "If you think about it, he showed up tonight. He might be looking for company."

Larani looked to her friend, eyes widening. "Keeley, you cannot hit on the captain," she hissed. 

"We're both adults and it's off-hours. It's not like I work with him every day. Besides, what's the worst that happens? He says no?"

With a wink, Wells was off. Michael watched as she grabbed a drink and approached Chris, offering it to him with a smile, then resting her hand on his arm after he took it. Vaguely, Michael was impressed. That was one of those things she'd never learned how to do—just go up and hit on someone. What did you even say?

Chris smiled at Wells, but it was one of the professional ones, distant and polite. Michael wondered if she'd notice. 

He smoothly shifted away from her hand, tipping the drink in acknowledgment as he moved further down the bar to talk to Nhan. Wells shrugged and walked back toward Larani, but Michael's eyes followed Chris, noting how he set the drink aside in favor of something Nhan offered. Polite as always. 

Before she knew what she was doing, her feet had taken her to him, just as Nhan peeled off. Chris clocked her in his peripheral, turning her way, eyes widening as they slid down her frame and up again. 

Heat washed through Michael, but she tried to set it aside as she nodded to him in greeting. "Captain," she said, a little amused by the formality. 

"Burnham," he returned, his eyes dropping again, appreciative. "That is some dress. Tilly?" he asked, looking back to her eyes. 

"Got it in one. She calls it 'suggestive without being too revealing,' but I feel naked and everyone's staring at me."

"Because you're beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with something like want. 

Michael felt heat flush through her again, no idea what to say. 

Before she had to figure it out, a voice called out from the beer pong area: "Captain! Wanna play?"

Chris turned, taking it in, a wicked little smile appearing. "You're damn right I do." He strode over, drink still in hand, and plucked the ball from the crewman's grasp. He raised it, putting on a show for everyone watching. And the crew wanted to see this, some people actually standing on chairs for a better look.

Chris bounced the ball off the table, sending it sailing over his head, where he leaned back and caught it just above his mouth, blowing a steady stream of air to keep it suspended before blowing _out_ and sending it careening into the cup. Half the room lost its mind, cheering wildly. Michael just swallowed, thoroughly distracted by what else she wanted him to do with that mouth. 

Chris motioned for quiet as he used his drink to toast everyone. "Now I learned that from Robert April himself, so all I ask is that when you venture out in your future careers, you do me proud." That got another cheer.

Someone behind Michael suggestively muttered, "I'll do him proud," but any response was drowned out as Chris drained his drink, to more cheers. "And I'm out! Enjoy your night. Make good choices," he called as he headed for the door, getting a round of laughs. Beloved. 

Michael could relate. 

***

She entered his quarters not long after, kicking off her strappy sandals immediately. She smiled at the picture he made—sitting at his table, watching the brilliant nebula lit up outside the window, drink and PADD by his side. 

Chris smiled back, taking her in with an appreciative sweep of his gaze. Maybe there was something to this dress business, as Tilly so often insisted. 

"So, Specialist Wells," Michael said. 

"Specialist Wells," Chris agreed, standing, echoing their conversation about Tilly not so very long ago. "And no, there's nothing you need to handle there."

"Oh, you looked like you had the situation well in hand." That seemed to strike Chris, something about it tilting his head, expression gone considering. 

Michael moved closer, checking out what he was reading. A novel, it turned out. Nothing she couldn't interrupt then. 

When she looked back at him, he was staring at her again, eyes tracing over her curves like he'd never seen a woman before. 

Michael scoffed. "Really?" She knew men got dumb about these things, but she didn't think of Chris in that category. 

Chris met her eyes steadily. "It was a very good thing someone interrupted because otherwise, I might not have kept my hands to myself."

Michael stepped closer, that liquid warmth lighting her up like it always did when they were alone like this. Or all the time, these days. "No one said you had to." 

Chris made some unidentifiable noise. "That'll do it," he muttered, parroting her own words back to her as he got a hand on her hip and reeled her in. 

Michael went willingly, leaning up for the kiss as his arms circled around her, hands learning her curves, mouth sliding over hers. He wasn't stopping himself this time, tongue teasing hers, then skating along her palette, exploration thorough and devastating. The slick slide of their mouths made Michael a little dizzy, stumbling back into the table. 

Chris followed with her, cradling her against his chest, one hand running from the tip of her shoulder down to her thigh, where the dress ended and skin began. His blunt nails scratching there made her gasp into his mouth, Chris biting her bottom lip and tugging. 

Her entire body lit up with that, hands gripping him tight as she arched against him, wanting. The noise she made would probably be horribly embarrassing if she could hear anything beyond the rush of blood in her ears, mouths fused together, Michael trying to curl herself around him. 

Strong hands on her hips lifted and suddenly she was splayed back on the table, Chris between her legs and leaning down to chase her mouth, his erection pressed against her. Another of those drudging kisses and he leaned back to look at her, the nebula outside the window limning him in blazing color.

"This is some dress," he rumbled again, voice gone gravelly and used, like he'd been calling out her name for hours. He leaned in for another kiss, his hand sliding up her thigh again, but this time it didn't stop at her hemline, slipping under the tight material and moving up...up...

Michael cried out when his fingers pressed against her, already so wet. 

Chris pulled away from their kiss to mutter, "No underwear is just mean," before slipping a finger inside her, his blue eyes glittering as he watched her gasp his name, legs coming around to cradle him. He bit at her mouth as he pushed another finger inside her, swallowing the little mewling noise she made, setting up a rhythm with his fingers, thumb teasing her clit. 

She'd be embarrassed about how close she was already, but he'd kept her _waiting_...for _so long_...

Michael ground against his hand, gasping, " _Please_ " against his mouth. Chris watched, eyes drinking her in while his fingers—his amazing, talented, _glorious_ fingers—worked her, spiraling the tension inside her, muscles starting to shake. She arched and tried to get more of him, hands grasping too hard at his shoulders, thighs flexing around him. 

Dimly, Michael realized he was staring, but she couldn't spare any thought for it, not when he flicked his fingers up against her clit _perfectly_ , her body going tight as a bowstring, a rush of heat spiraling outwards, orgasm shaking her apart. 

After, when the tremors died down, Michael panted and came back to herself, realizing just what she looked like—splayed up on the table, both of them fully-clothed, Chris between her thighs with a hand up her dress and staring like she'd done something remarkable. 

Michael tightened around his fingers and flushed, but Chris simply shook his head, breathing, "You are miraculous" before he took her mouth again, derailing the self-consciousness before it could take root. 

She moaned into his kiss, too lit up with good feeling to argue the theology of it. 

After more long kisses, Chris pulled his fingers out of her, Michael protesting the loss. He pulled back from the kiss with a smile, his mouth red and used. "Don't worry. I'm not done with you yet."

Then he took hold of her thighs and picked her up, stepping back from the table. Michael's legs cinched around him automatically as he carried her to the bedroom. She normally hated manhandling, but as she held onto his shoulders and found his mouth again, nothing had ever felt sexier. 

Chris dropped her back on the bed, crawling after her and settling by her side, his fingers once again trailing all over her skin. He slid his hand along the lacing of her dress, all the way up to where it was loosened to show her cleavage, fingers plucking at the ties there, loosening it further. 

"How long did it take to get into this thing?" he asked, curious.

" _Forever_ ," she said passionately, because it had, totally ridiculous. Though with the way his eyes gleamed, maybe not. 

Chris smirked at her. "Bet I can get it off faster." With that, he leaned down and sucked a nipple _through_ the white fabric, the sudden spike of heat making her gasp and arch. 

He made impressively quick work of the laces, loosening all of them just enough, then tugging the top half down to her hips, encouraging her to lift up off the bed, and sliding the dress off and away. 

Then he _stared_ , taking her in, naked on his bed. Michael almost couldn't take the intensity in his eyes.

"You did that suspiciously easily," she said. 

"I'm good with my hands. You may have noticed," he said lightly, leaning over to kiss her again, hands sweeping over her body, the feeling of his skin on hers going right to her head. 

" _Yeah_ ," she breathed into his mouth, pulling him on top of her, groaning at his weight pinning her down. But he was still wearing his clothes, the material a nuisance when all she wanted was his skin against hers. "Off," she said, tugging at his shirt.

"Patience," he shot back, kissing and nipping down her neck, down to her breasts and lingering there a while. Then he kept going, his mouth moving over her body in an undeniably downward direction, the implication making Michael groan and rub up against him. 

Chris looked up at her with a smirk, eyes glittering as he pressed her thighs wider. "Deep breath," he said teasingly, then leaned down and got his mouth where she wanted it. 

Michael gasped as his tongue licked at her slit, then moved up to circle her clit, _slowly_. She gripped one hand in his hair, the other in a pillow, and tried to hang on as his mouth flicked and laved and circled her _perfectly_ , lighting up her whole body. All she could do was moan and shake and grind against him, frustrated when his hands stilled her hips and she couldn't even do that. 

It went on _forever_ , his clever mouth taking her right up to the edge, then backing off again, leaving her a gasping, shaking mess. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore, gasping out, " _Chris, please_ ," in a voice she didn't recognize. 

Chris seemed to, groaning against her—the vibrations sending new shocks of pleasure through her—moving his mouth up, tongue flicking over her clit, then backing off so he could suck lightly. Michael cried out as everything went _molten_ , his mouth working her through her orgasm, pleasure screaming through every nerve ending in her body, muscles trembling uncontrollably as the room flashed white. 

After, Michael gasped in heaving breaths, a high-pitched ringing in her ears and sweat all over her limp body. She drifted, random thoughts flitting through her mind—she might need more dresses. Did she eat dinner? _How_ did people not spend all their time doing this?

Reality eventually filtered back in, Chris lying beside her, trailing slow fingers down her thigh. Michael blinked when she realized his clothes were gone. She must have lost some time there. She thought about it...and then decided if it got her what she wanted, she didn't care. 

She made some pleased noise and shifted toward him. 

Chris met her eyes, amused. "Back with us?"

"Your fault," she said, hearing how raspy her voice sounded. 

Chris nodded, solemn. "I take full responsibility." 

Michael brushed appreciative fingers over his mouth, breathing _in_ when he parted his lips to suck on them, light. She groaned and pulled back, knowing if she let him keep on like that, she'd get distracted again. 

Instead she nudged him to roll onto his back, finally getting a proper look. He was leanly muscled, evidence of a clear dedication to staying in shape. Michael finally got her hands on him, learning him by feel. She nipped at his chest, hands tracing his abs, over the cut of his hipbone, then down lower. 

His cock was still hard against his thigh—impressive—and Michael wrapped a light hand around him, exploratory. Chris groaned, eyes fluttering shut. She stroked him slow, loose, reveling in the silky skin. 

Her other fingers scratched down his muscled thigh. "The pants you wear are obscene, you know. They show everything. Tilly calls you Captain Sexypants."

"They're uniform pants," he protested, voice tight, grasping for control. 

"They cling."

Chris caught her wrist, stilling her hand around him, seeming to regain some equilibrium. "Not for nothing, but I think it's working for me."

Michael grinned. She leaned back up to kiss him, his mouth lush against hers, tongue teasing the underside of her own, making her _want_. 

"Anytime you want to get inside me," she gasped into his mouth before diving back in, nipping at his bottom lip.

Chris rolled them, never breaking the kiss, balancing his weight on his elbows as he angled her thigh up, and slid inside her in one smooth movement. 

Michael arched and wrapped her leg around him, feeling every delicious inch. " _Yes_ ," she hissed, tilting her hips up and urging him on. 

Chris groaned and thrust into her again, catching her mouth as he set up a rhythm that made her toes curl, slow but _thorough_. 

Michael's nails dug into his shoulders as he moved, slowly driving her insane, that sparking pressure building inside her again. She dug her heel in his ass, trying to get him to go faster, but he just pulled back and smirked at her, nipping at her chin. "Patience..." he drawled again.

" _Chris_."

He got that amused glint to his eyes and then sank inside her and went still. Michael opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, he grabbed her thigh tight and rolled them again. Then he sat up, taking her with him so she was astride him, sinking down on him even further, wrenching a surprised cry from her throat. 

Chris held her close, arms wrapped around her tightly, moving her up and down on him, so deep she could feel him _everywhere_. 

Michael tipped her head back as her body started trembling again, clenching around him as pleasure skated up her spine. He kissed her neck and moved a hand between them, finding her clit again, skimming over it lightly. 

And like _that_ , the orgasm washed over her, Michael gasping as everything ignited again, Chris still moving into her perfectly, stoking it. 

She felt him go still inside her, coming with a groan, and Michael held him close, finding his mouth again. It was more breathing against each other than a kiss, but they were there, together. That was what mattered. 

After a moment he opened his eyes—gone dark with desire, color flushed high on his cheeks—and just looked at her, like she was some kind of marvel. He pressed his lips to hers, something trembling and fragile in it. Michael kissed back, shaking again, for a different reason. 

Eventually, they separated, Michael groaning as he pulled out of her, both of them flopping down onto the bed. 

Michael sucked in air, one arm flung above her head, trying to make some order out of her scrambled thoughts. Sex with Ash had been good. Sex before that had been good. This was a _revelation_.

It was possible her entire frame of reference might have been...skewed. 

Lying beside her, Chris picked up on it. "That's a lot of thinking going on over there. There should be no thinking," he rumbled, rolling close.

"Don't mind me, I'm just recontextualizing my entire romantic life." Recontextualizing and finding it _wanting_. 

Chris huffed a laugh, kissing her shoulder. "I'll take that as a compliment." He settled onto his back, gone quiet again. 

Michael breathed in, then turned toward him and rested her head on his chest. She scratched her fingers through his chest hair, meditative. 

Eventually, she spoke: "Can we talk about this now?" she asked, sweeping her hand down his naked chest, indicating their position. 

Chris ran his fingers down her back, then up again, over and over, almost hypnotic. "We can talk about anything."

Michael looked up from where her head rested on his chest. "Why did it take us so long to get here?"

"You mean, why was I holding out on you?" he guessed with a wry grin. 

"Mine was nicer."

Chris' smile widened at that before it faded, his fingers still tracing over her. "You are one of the most brilliant, confident women I know. And I mean that. You have this total conviction even when you're suggesting some of the most bugnuts crazy ideas I've ever heard, which I say with complete admiration. But when it came to this—" He gestured between the two of them. "Something about it spooked you worse than Tango spotting a rattler. I figured...better to be cautious. What's a little time, after all. I didn't want any doubts."

Michael swallowed. "I never doubted you."

"I know. I needed you not to doubt yourself."

That landed on Michael, the truth of it settling in her gut. She had been questioning her own judgment, unsure. She was surprised he'd picked up on it...but then again, she probably shouldn't be. He saw so much. And he... _knew_ her. 

Michael nodded and lowered her head to his chest again, listening to his heart beat, steady and reliable. They stayed like that, drifting, his heartbeat lulling her almost to sleep. 

Chris seemed to sense it, nudging her, tugging at the covers underneath them. "Come on, get in."

Michael made a negative noise, trying to gin up the energy to move. "We have an early briefing."

"Not anymore. Out of respect for people's hangovers, I pushed it."

Michael studied him, smiling a little. "Out of respect for people's hangovers," she repeated, dry. 

Chris shot her an innocent look, which just made Michael smile. But still, she shook her head. "I can't do the walk of shame in that dress tomorrow morning."

Chris _hmmed_ as he turned them and dropped kisses on her skin, coaxing with word and deed. "You'll have to keep a few spare uniforms here. Until then, have Tilly bring you something." He kissed his way up her arm, then detoured to her mouth, pressing his lips there, slow and luxurious. When he pulled back, his voice was husky again: "Stay with me."

Michael shivered at the banked heat there. "Okay."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


End file.
